


Tremble For Me.

by Payson_Blinde



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Cock Slut Quentin, Coming Untouched, Dacryphilia, Dom/sub, Dry Orgasm, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Fear of Death, First Time, Fisting, Humiliation, Hurt/comfort kind of, M/M, Masturbation, Misuse of Flashlights, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Pseudo-Enemies to Lovers, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, Size Difference, Spit As Lube, That Can't Be Sanitary, consensual voyeurism, oversensitisation, porn with slight plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Payson_Blinde/pseuds/Payson_Blinde
Summary: When he first enters the realm, Quentin is terrified, hopeless, and shattered. Michael likes that.Alternatively:Quentin has always rejected his desires, preferring to isolate himself in shame of his body. Michael doesn't give him that luxury.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pain is.. sparse. Very sparse.

All my life, I’d always felt so incredibly… small. I sat in the back of my old classes, I was too shy to ask for an extra napkin, just doing what he could to stay out of people’s way. I figured that’s all I would really amount to: an obstacle that everyone else had to work around.

Report cards said I was smart, my mom and that one girl from middle school said I was cute, my friends said I was nice - but I’m not… anything. I’m just here. And people say I shouldn’t be, but for some reason, I’m sorry for that. For being... here.

When I was taken into the Entity’s realm, I was terrified. Too terrified to move, to speak, to think. I couldn’t understand what was happening. The others were so nice - I guess they’d all gone through the same thing. But especially Dwight. He’s like me - quiet, and keeps to himself. At least he seems like it.

In the Entity’s realm, there’s not really a lot of privacy. You don’t have a lot of biological needs - I guess in a lot of ways, you’re just dead. But there’s reasons why Meg and Nea disappear into the woods every night, and why Jake and Dwight huddle together beside the treeline even though the campfire is warmer. Some things don’t change.

We’ve gotten used to it. You see things, hear things, and you just ignore it. We’re all lonely. You know, I mean… sometimes all you really want is a hand down your pants that isn’t your own. And I’m not above that, but I wait until I know everyone’s either busy and asleep to take care of business. And whenever someone asks, I say I’m asexual. Apparently David was a little bummed to hear that - but I don’t say it because it’s true, I say it because… I have a really, really small… um. Dick.

You know, I’m eighteen. My dad's the same height as me, but I’d always kidded myself into thinking maybe I’d get another growth spurt. But that doesn’t happen here. What we’ve got is what we’re stuck with. And in my case, it’s a two-inch erection. And I hated it, so, so much. Because as much as I just want… _someone,_ I knew I could never have the courage to let anyone see. 

I was thrown into trials. Claudette and Dwight tried so hard to keep me alive, but it just didn’t happen. I was too slow, or too loud, or too scared. I’d never felt so much pain in my life - physical or psychological. It was hell. And I didn’t know what I did to deserve it. I’d get back to the campfire and I’d be in too much shock to even cry.

By the time my fourth trial came around, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and weep. I just couldn’t take it. I found myself in Autohaven Wreckers and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I went, sniffling and whimpering, to the corner of the map, behind a wall, and just sat, and cried. I knew I couldn’t stay long or the crows would find me, and I’d be done for. But who cares? It wasn’t like I was gonna get out anyway.

I don’t know how long I stayed there. But I heard a tune, a few notes playing in my head, that I’d never heard before, and I jerked my head up in surprise - and _he_ was there. Right in front of me, a dark figure in a glowing white mask. He said nothing. Just stared. I was too frightened to move, to scream - I was frozen in place, my mind screaming for me to run but I couldn’t. My legs were sewn to the floor, my eyes wide and full of fresh tears.

The man lowered himself to look me in the eye - but I couldn’t see anything past the black shadow of his mask. Only a hollow pit where I knew a face should be. He carried a kitchen knife the size of my forearm, and when he moved it I swear I could already feel it plunging into my chest and I squeaked. But he put it in his belt.

He reached out with a gloved hand and grabbed my hair. I squeezed my eyes closed, bracing for something but I didn’t know what. But he just moved my head to the side, as if inspecting my neck, left and right.

I’d never been so confused in my entire life - but in that moment, it all just fed into fear. I didn’t know what to expect. Was he going to eat me? I’d heard of killers that ate survivors, but I’d never seen it happen. Maybe this was his Mori. Or maybe he was deciding? Maybe he thought I was so pathetic I wasn’t even worth killing?

“P-please,” I begged, “please, don’t… don’t hurt me,” I felt so tiny, so fragile. I’d never known a killer to show true sympathy. Sometimes they’d spare one of us for a little while, but in the end, they’re called killers for a reason. That’s what they’re made for.

His other hand raised to wrap around my neck, his grip only just shy of choking the air out of me. He began to stand up, dragging me up with him. I stared at him, my lips quivering and hands grasping desperately at the wall behind me. He stepped forward and shoved his knee between my legs, pinning me instantly, as if I had any chance of escaping him regardless.

Still holding my head up by my hair, he began to undo the buttons of my shirt.

“What- what are you…” I started, my voice trembling and small. This was… This wasn’t normal. This couldn’t possibly be normal. He ran his hand over my chest, bringing his fingers up to tease my nipples with light circles and I went red as they grew hard, gasping when he gave one a short, sharp pinch.

Oh god. Oh fuck. I didn’t know what to do - should I try and get away? But I didn’t want to hurt again. And how could I, anyway? He had me raised up off the ground on his knee, my head pinned to the wall, and my arms were heavy with terror.

And… fuck. It sounded insane but I hadn’t been touched in… so long. So much of me just wanted to give into this. He wasn’t hurting me - and he wasn’t hurting my teammates. But his hand started to move down over my stomach, down to my jeans and I realized - _Fuck_. I had an erection.

 _It’s okay,_ I told myself, but even my thoughts didn’t sound calm, _it’s so small he probably can’t distinguish it from my je - oh god._

Yes, he could. And - fuck - he was rubbing it, and I could feel it fattening up, and like a kitten I couldn’t stop the meek little mewl of pleasure from falling past my lips. He undid the button and zipper, pulling down the elastic to let my eager little two-inch cocklet spring up to attention. There was so much blood in my cheeks, flushed with humiliation as it twitched and oozed, I was surprised there was enough to reach my dick.

But he didn’t seem to care. He brought his hand to my mouth, dragging down on my lip before I realized he was going to put his fingers in. I asked forgiveness from any god there was, and took his fingers into my mouth. I figured that no matter where he decided to put them, this was all the lubrication I’d get, so I swirled my tongue around them, trying to get them as wet as possible.

I must have closed my eyes, because when I found myself opening them, I swear to god his face was closer than it was before. I could hear him breathing hard. Oh god. Oh fuck. Did that turn him on? And why did I... why did I really, _really_ like that idea?

But then I couldn’t think more about it because he was holding my little cocklet between his two fingers, stroking up and down like I was a nothing but a puppy to pet when your hands got bored - and I could scarcely breathe under the treatment. Seemingly absent-mindedly, he’d rub his finger over my slit, smothering me with my own precome, that was already past beading on my tip and was beginning to spill over my shaft.

His touch send shivers up my spine - but the light, lethargic kind that I just couldn’t get enough of. The fabric of his gloves was soft and velvety but felt so foreign, and the whole thing confused me and terrified me but _fuck_ now I was too fucking horny to think, and the most introspective I could be was to realize that I was grinding down on his knee, desperate to get _something,_ but I was powerless under him. I would only feel what he _wanted_ me to feel - and right now, he wanted me to feel his fingers grazing teasingly over my pathetic little dick, getting precome all over myself and turning my fearful whimpers into desperate cries of tantalizing pleasure.

Then suddenly, without warning, he grasped my dick tight and started thrusting his hand up and down at a lightning speed, and after all the build-up the pleasure hit me like a tidal wave, it wasn’t another twenty seconds before mind went white my voice was pouring out of my throat like the cry of a trapped animal, and my dick was shooting cum straight up into my shirt. My hands shook, and when he set me down, my knees buckled underneath me. I hung my head, trying to catch my breath, to let the spiralling, dizzying rush of fear and pleasure subside - and when I looked back up, he was gone.

I’d had to finish the trial smelling like sex, with my shirt stained with cum - and every time I saw his face, watching us from a distance, my heart would lurch with fear like it always did, but even so, I could feel myself blush. 

It didn’t take long before my dick began filling again. My hand drifted down to it from time to time, squeezing and rubbing my little nothing dick through my pants to give myself a little friction. But that just left me biting my lip to hold back moans in front of the others, wishing I hadn't started but in too deep to stop. Some dark, taboo part of me wanted to seclude myself and see if he came back - but I knew I couldn’t possibly. 

_But then he’s not hurting anyone else,_ I reasoned, almost talking myself into it. Obviously. It'd be for altruism. But somehow it didn’t feel too altruistic when I was jacking myself off later during the trial, hidden away behind the gas station, or in the dead of night, remembering the feeling of being putty in his hands, of letting him do whatever he wanted to me.

I just couldn't possibly see him the same way. He'd let me go, and part of me wondered if maybe I should just let him do it again next time so maybe I'd be spared - but who was I kidding; I couldn't stop him. But I wasn't sure if I even wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

I was getting better. A little swifter, a little wiser - the rest of the survivors were doing their best to show me tricks and teach me their skills, which was honestly really helpful. I felt like I connected better with these incredibly unfortunate, trapped souls - with whom I only had that in common - than I had with any of my previous ‘earthly’ friends. And I guess that’s good, considering… we might never get out.

I kept dreaming of him. Well - not really of him, but… of pleasure. Sex. I’d wake up in a little puddle of my own precome, sensitive enough to cum with a muffled gasp in just a few strokes. And even though I hadn’t seen his face, I knew, somehow, I’d been dreaming of him.

It wasn’t all that long before, in another trial, I heard those music notes floating through my mind. He was here.

Claudette and I were working on a generator when Dwight came sprinting past us, terror splayed across his face. In shock, my fingers slipped, and the generator exploded.

“I’m sorry! Run!” Dwight cried. Claudette hid behind the machine, and I booked it. Whether it was because I was the slowest, or… something else, Michael decided to pursue me.

But I wasn’t thinking, so caught up in my fear, my uncertainty - the flashes of memories that I tried hopelessly to swallow down - I ran straight to the edge of the map. No good windows, no pallets - no options. If I’d have been Meg, I could’ve looped him for ages. If I’d have been Nea or Jake, I would’ve lost him by now. But I was only me: backed up against the wall, watching him approach, my dick already stirring. Fuck it all.

With a sudden flash of strength, he stabbed his knife into the wood of a nearby wall, making me jump, reminding me that he could break me like a pencil if he so desired. Oh god. It just… it didn’t feel right, being this fucking terrified, and this… _completely_ aroused. I wasn’t even sure that he wouldn’t kill me, I just… knew I might get to cum beforehand. And that was enough to make me dizzy with lust.

He kept walking forward. All I could do was watch, my legs trembling, sweat dripping down my neck. He reached out a hand and pushed me hard against the wall. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me down, letting me tumble like a rag doll down to my hands and knees.

Peering up at him, my breath hitching in my throat as I strained to not sob, I watched as he reached up to open his suit, revealing the black shirt beneath. He pulled it open further and further - until… Oh god. He unsheathed his massive cock.

Good fucking Lord. It could’ve been five times the size of mine. It was a pale shade of pink, darker at the head and down the thick veins that spanned it. It looked like a fucking instrument of war. I could help it, I licked my lips at the sight, imagining how it would taste, what it was capable of. Fuck knows I’d learn.

Michael grabbed my hair and grasped his cock, raising it to my face, and without even thinking I opened my mouth. He smeared it over my lips, over my cheeks, getting precome everywhere, and I found myself licking it off myself. Feeling its saltiness on my tongue, taking it inside of me - something about it was as irresistably satisfying as his glove on my cock. And when he pushed his head past my lips, I couldn’t help a shivering, wanton moan. It was… God, it was so wrong. But it was so _fucking good._ He held the back of my head and started moving my head back and forth over his cock, stretching my lips around his thick shaft, fucking my face like it was nothing more than a warm hole in the wall. Faster and faster. He plunged his dick deeper down my throat with every thrust, until I was damn near choking on every breath.

And at some point he stopped moving me, and I kept up that relentless pace on my own, shoving him as far into me as I could, sucking on his cock hard, as if beyond that slit lay a delicious, impossibly thick cum smoothie. I glanced up to see that cold, unmoving face, watching me, judging me. Stoic and silent, like I might as well not be there at all. _Holy fuck._ I had to remember. _This guy... kills us for fun. And I’ve got his dick in my mouth, because - fuck - I wanna taste his cum, I wanna please him, wanna feel him inside-_

Michael pulled my head off his cock and I could finally breathe again, feeling my chin smeared with precome and drool. He dragged me up to stand by my hair, and with a jerk, turned me around to face the wall. He leaned over me and I could feel his hot breath in my ear, and I felt myself trembling as he unbuttoned my pants and dropped them over my ass and onto my ankles. His fingers pressed down a smooth line between my ass cheeks, and I gave a squeak as he passed over my tense, little virgin asshole. He came back to it, rubbing it in juicy, relentless little circles as his other hand reached around to fondle my balls, and forgoing my pathetic, weeping dick to knead at my perineum.

“O-oh, fuck, please-” I sobbed. Some tiny part of me still wanted to run away, but it was being drowned out by my desperate, whimpering need for _more._ I was being drawn along like a limp little puppet with a fuckhole just barely worth putting your dick in, and god, it felt so _right._

He pushed down my soaked underwear and I stood half-naked in the middle of a trial, pathetic and begging for more, for anyone to see. Gasping like a newly-claimed whore, he bent me over with a hard shove, forcing me to stick my ass out as I leaned on the brick edge of the map, my dick spilling a sticky stream of precome onto the dirt. Blood pounding my ears, completely blind to what he was doing. For a moment, I could only wait, and pray no one walked by.

Then, a slippery finger started to shove into my asshole, and with a muted cry, I felt myself clench every muscle in my body. His other hand swept, almost kindly, down my back. I took a shaky breath. I needed to relax. Rubbing my hands against the wall, I tried to focus on the texture of the rough bricks, instead of the thick intrusion slowly wriggling its way into my ass. It wasn’t long before another began to prod it, slowly poking in until I felt myself being scissored open. Just as I was finally figuring out the art of thinking nothing, a sudden zap of pleasure shocked my brain back into reality, ripping a wordless cry from my throat.

Tears in my eyes, I turned back, to ask, as if he would answer, “What- what was tha-” but he didn’t even let me finish, and I felt his fingers curl against that spot again and _Fuck!_ The world flashed out of existence for a moment, left alone with that feeling of hot, electrifying pleasure that threatened to sap the strength from my legs with every little stroke.

With absolutely no warning, he jerked his fingers out and slammed them back in hard, nailing my prostate. The unexpected pang of electricity hit me like a train, and I _screamed_ into the night.

But - oh God - he didn’t stop, not for a moment - with a firm grip on my waist, he pounded his fingers into that spot, with the ruthless pace of a jackhammer, torching my brain with crashing sensation.

_“Aaaaah!_ F-f-fuck!” I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open, if I was still standing - all I knew was that I was completely and entirely helpless, screams tearing through my throat, and tears of guilty, irresistible, crippling pleasure streaming down my face. It wasn’t another ten seconds into the savage attack on my prostate that my tiny little cock, twitching ceaselessly and dripping with fluid, shot out load after load of cum, spraying a thick stream of sperm into the dirt, against the wall, into my shirt - but he just kept going.

My voice ran dry just as my dick did, and all I could do was sob as his fingers were merciless in my asshole. Jamming with deadly precision against that spot as if by magnets, and slowly stretching my rim to fit in more fingers, he forced my poor, spent little cocklet back into hardness.

“P-please, I - fuck - I can’t,” I whimpered, but God, it felt so _good,_ it felt _perfect,_ like an insatiable fucking machine that I didn’t know I needed in my ass _constantly_ until now, digging itself into my abused little prostate as if I didn’t exist to tell it not to.

Even as my knees were buckling beneath me, and my cock was dribbling with all the cum I had left in my balls, some dark urge from deep in my gut wanted more, _more,_ and _fast._ I pressed back against that gloved hand, realizing I’d lost track of how many fingers he was fucking me with. Three? Maybe four? It didn’t matter anymore, because he pulled them out within a moment, and I was left wagging my ass uselessly, panting and drooling over myself, feeling empty and exhausted, my cock too hard now to ignore. 

He reached around me just as I felt I would finally collapse, holding me with with two fingers pressing at my perineum, kneading it as he traced a circle just within the rim of my twitching hole. I bit my lip, blinking tears from my eyes. His fingers felt wet and slick. He plunged them in once as if to coat the inside, sending a shiver up my spine.

My legs unable to cave beneath me with his hand there behind my balls, I could only give into the fatigue so much as to bend further down at the waist, knowing with a heated blush that it left my asshole totally exposed, like a wanton plea for more. But - fuck - I _needed_ more. And if he wanted me bent over, ass sticking out, pink little asshole fluttering and clenching against nothing in the evening breeze before he gave it to me, then fuck, I’d stay here whimpering all night.

With his spare hand, I felt him grabbing at my ass cheeks, striking one just to hear me yelp and watch it wobble, like a toy. The thought made my cock flinch and trickle with the last few drops precome it had to offer.

I felt the blunt, wet tip of his cock press up against my hole, tracing my rim lethargically. Images  
flashed across my dazed mind of its length, its girth, the way it wrecked my throat, how good it would feel riding up on that delicious spot - my voice gave a quivering moan. _Fuck,_ I wanted it inside of me. I _needed_ it.

I pushed my hips back against it, feeling the head slipping past my rim, but it wasn’t enough. I pushed further, further, taking in more and more. God, it was like my asshole was starving for it, taking it smooth and steady, deeper, massaging my walls, plunging deeper inside of me than I even thought possible, until I could feel the fabric of his clothes against my ass.

I leaned forward, sliding it out just an inch or two, and backward again. I glanced back to see his white, stoic face towering above me, where he stood silent and still. I shuddered under his unmoved gaze, biting my lip. Unthinking, I continued to slide his cock in and out of my asshole, reveling in this slow, intense feeling of resignation to the pleasure, of letting myself be domesticated into a little fucktoy for this unfeeling beast. So easily, too - all it took was stroking my tiny little cock, making it trickle over with precome, and I was a drooling, shivering mess, fucking myself on Michael Myers’ dick in the middle of a trial.

I felt his hands spread my ass cheeks, getting a better view of his cock sliding in and out of his new toy while it mewled for more. Then he grabbed my hips and with a _shriek_ I felt him slam his dick into the very depths of my ass, pulling out and thrusting in again at a ruthless pace, switching up his angle until he _rammed_ my prostate, and through my choked scream he just kept pounding it, fucking the words right out of my head and overwhelming my brain with sharp, merciless bouts of striking pleasure.

My mouth hung open and my eyes squeezed shut, my balls tightened and my little cocklet twitched and swelled where it bounced with the thrusts of Michael’s monstrous dick. Tears fell from my eyes and my voice was shot to a shattered sob as another orgasm wracked through my body, my cock trying to give up a little more cum, but there was nothing in my tiny balls to give. Michael’s thrusts became sporadic and soon he was jamming his dick deep in my ass, and I could feel his hot squirts of cum filling me up in every little crevice, starting to leak down my thighs as he slowly pushed his cock in and out of my ass a few more times.

He pulled his hand out from under me and my knees immediately wobbled and caved, plopping me in a shuddering mess, my jeans bunched at my ankles, dripping cum from my ass, tears drying on my cheeks as I tried to just remember how to breathe. He stepped to my side and I squeaked as he grabbed my hair, turning my head to face his softening dick. I looked up to his face, but his mask only stared. He pulled my face in toward his cock. I didn’t think, I just took his dick into my mouth, sucking it lightly and licking him clean. His grasp eased on my hair, his hand settling behind my head. I glanced up. He wasn't watching me, but was looking off into the distance. I heard him give a slow sigh, his hand moving mindlessly over my hair.

I pulled his cock from my mouth with one last, tidy suck, swallowing down his cum. He put his dick back into his pants, zipping the suit, and left me there.


	3. Chapter 3

Days passed - maybe a week, maybe two. I hadn’t had a trial with Michael in what felt like forever and… fuck, my hand just wasn't cutting it. I’d never fingered myself before then. It felt okay, but my fingers were thin and short; I just couldn’t find that spot inside of me that just turned every fiber in my body into white hot fire. I needed _more._ Always more.

I was getting greedy. I needed his touch. His cock, pressing down my throat, leaking precome on my tongue, or pushing into my ass - or even just his hands, around my dick, or grabbing my hips, or stretching my hole… God, just, _something._

I lay awake that night, a little ways off from the smoldering campfire. For hours I’d tried to sleep but I’d long given up. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see his masked face staring down at me like I was nothing - just a pitiful little mouse, defenseless and shaking, desperate for his dick. I could still feel it tracing my lips, pushing down my throat, his salt coating my tongue, the way his juices had leaked slowly out of my ass all night. The way I kept reaching down my underwear to wipe it off my thighs, only to immediately lick it off my fingers just for the taste. To remember whose territory I was.

But fuck. He’d turned me into a needy little whore and now it’d been too long. I needed something inside of me - anything would do, anything that would fill up my hungry little asshole and remind me of all the things he could do to me.

I opened my eyes, looking around for something shaped even slightly like a dick. Then I found something: Dwight’s flashlight. It wasn't a pretty thing, but regardless, I was licking my lips just looking at it. I reached out and grabbed it, spitting on the handle and coating it with slippery saliva. I had no idea what Michael had used for lube, but it did a much better job than this. But this would have to do.

I’d been laying on my stomach, keeping one hip off the ground with a raised knee, showing off my opened-up ass cheeks toward the forest. My little cock had been leaking precome onto the ground for hours, but I refused to touch it. No, I wanted anyone who saw me to see exactly what I was: an empty hole, gasping to be fucked by any passersby who cared to fill it.

Reaching a hand behind me, I brushed my fingertips over the soft, twitching flesh of my pucker. Biting my lip, I pushed one just past my rim, teasing myself slowly even as I was pushing back on it, whimpering to get _something_ in my asshole.

For a moment, I wondered. Did I deserve this? I was… I was a toy. The only reason Michael could be bothered to fuck me was because he could push me against the wall and right on cue, I’d spread my legs, dick twitching and leaking, looking up at him with glazed fuck-me eyes, mouth hanging open so he could put his cock inside me any way he pleased. I was just a hole. I didn’t deserve the pleasure that came with it, I didn’t deserve the mind-numbing orgasms that wracked my entire body when he pounded ruthlessly into my asshole, crushing my prostate, making me sob in ecstasy as he fucked every last thought from my brain. I wasn't worthy of any of it - I was a disgusting little whore for taking it, for always needing more. And knowing that just made it oh so... _irresistible._

I was already waist-deep in my own haze of twisted pleasure that I’d hardly noticed that I’d since pushed three fingers into my ass, prodding around for my prostate, pumping them in and out as I bit my lip through my moans. God it was - it was good, it was _so_ much better. But it wasn't _enough._

I took the handle of Dwight’s flashlight and slowly, with tantalising purpose, pushed it into my ass. I shuddered as the metal heated inside me, reaching far deeper than my measly fingers had managed. Once the whole handle had vanished into the abyss of warm flesh beyond my rim, I clenched down around it, wishing to god it was something else - something bigger, something out of my control. Something dangerous. On the brink of destroying me, something that would plunge into me and _use_ me and fuck me into delirium and ruin me for anyone else, without apology, without remorse. To make me _his._

I was shoving it in and out of me, gasps and moans slipping carelessly past my lips but I didn’t care. Faster, and faster, and _faster,_ until I could hardly breathe and my empty hand squirmed for something to grasp and my tiny little cock was bouncing and spraying precome all over me. And my hand slipped and I damn near _screamed_ with the slap of pleasure that plowed into me like a freight train. My eyes flew open and I choked on nothing and - wait. Is that…

In the woods, just beyond the tree line, that whiteness. Him. Watching me. Heat flooded my face and I remembered that I was writhing on the dirt ground with drool falling from my lips, shoving a flashlight in and out of my ass. But I couldn’t stop. I’d finally found that place and _fuck_ I just kept hitting it, and it fucked the sense out of me. I kept watching him, his face, wishing desperately he’d come over, he’d rip out the flashlight and bury his cock in my hole, where it belonged, where I _needed_ it. God, just the image alone was enough to send another squirt of precome rushing out my slit. Tears were gathering in my eyes. I _craved_ it.

“M-Michael,” I gasped, reaching out weakly toward him. “Michael, p… please,” I begged him, but he didn’t budge, not even the slight hint of movement. As if I wasn't even worth the effort of walking over. As if this, this burning shame, this crude metal I’d been pumping into my asshole, as if that was already more than I truly deserved.

But somehow that was _better._ I was his toy, and if he didn’t feel like playing with me, then I’d have to shut up and lay here - desperate, filthy, like a slut in heat - and deal with the misery.

I fucked my quivering asshole with everything I had, my brain raided and torched with guilt, pleasure, humiliation, desire. I grabbed at nothing, mouth open wide but holding my breath to choke down my cries, _faster, harder,_ until I slapped a hand over my mouth and my hips jutted off the ground and I shot a load cum into my shirt and over my neck. 

I lay there, panting. My hands shook, still slowly sliding that flashlight in and out of my ass as my heartbeat made its first attempts to steady. I looked back toward the forest. He was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reckon Michael gets jealous?

The whole next day, I couldn’t stop thinking about that night. At first, I was embarrassed. What I must have looked like… Ass propped up, thrusting a fucking _flashlight_ into my asshole, my pathetic little dick standing flat to my stomach and dripping all over me - and I _begged_ him! I mean - sure, I’ve said stuff while he was already… touching me, fucking me… but - while he was just watching, judging, and I was alone in that haze of heat and pleasure and _sex_... surely that was different. I didn’t just want him to finish what he’d started. I wanted him to stop what I was doing, slide his dick into my ass - feel my rim stretch around him as he dove deeper and deeper into my hot, aching heat…

...Anyway. I was embarrassed - which in turn just made me more horny, which meant I was sporting a boner throughout the entire trial with the Hag, which was _embarrassing,_ which just made me that much _fucking hornier_. Until eventually I was crouched inside the little boat, one hand furious on my dick and the other reaching lower to prod at my asshole, whispering curses at my own weakness but loving the disgust in my own voice. A few minutes of sinful relief and I was cumming with a sharp gasp onto the rotting wood of the boat.

I sat there, my breath shaking, squatting with my finger slowly teasing my asshole for another few minutes, until my dick stirred back to life, and like an insatiable whore, I knew I was in too deep to stop now. I lubed up my finger with spit and wormed it inside my hot, twitching hole, drawing it in and out slowly, my breath ragged and my fingers soft on the sensitive tip of my dick. Until eventually I couldn’t hold it back anymore, and I slipped another finger inside, picking up speed and rubbing hard at my walls, trying to find that spot again. Forgoing my puny cocklet where it still dripped with cum, I jammed my fingers in and out as fast as I could, assaulting my asshole like the frustrated little piece of shit I was. 

I was trying so hard to keep quiet, but it was just so _good,_ and I kept thinking of how it could’ve been that warm, ruthless cock - how much more _full_ it would’ve felt. How he’d have his hand tight in my hair, or hard around my throat, and his hot breath would be in my ear, and I would _know,_ that’s what I was made for. To take dick like a writhing whore, to be his cocksleeve, to be the hole he’d fuck when he felt like putting his dick in something.

“God, more, _more,”_ I hissed, plunging my fingers in as fast as I possibly could. My eyes were starting to roll. I was so fucking close.

“Quentin?” a voice whispered.

Shit. I went to grab my cock, to squeeze it tight and pray for the best, but it was too late. I was already spewing another load of cum into the cabin of the boat.

Shakily, I looked up. David was standing off to the side, staring at me curiously. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. How much did he see? I hastily wiped my hands on my jeans. From where he was standing, I wasn't sure if he could see them bunched around my knees. I quickly, hopefully quietly, pulled them back up and fastened them before standing - a bit shakily from having been crouched so long.

“Y-yeah?” I answered quietly.

He frowned. “You okay? You get scared?” he asked.

I nodded immediately, and his face softened. He beckoned me out. “C’mon, let’s just do this thing.” he sighed, and walked around to the bow to start working on the generator.

We ended up talking a bit of shit about the Hag - or he did, I listened silently and praised God that he didn’t seem to know what I just did - until the generator was nearly fixed. He told me to get some distance, and a few moments later, the light above the machine flicked on.

That was one of the few rounds I’d actually survived, except the - uh - ones I had with Michael. I always survived those. Claudette and Dwight had started catching on to the pattern. When I got back to the campfire, they asked me about it. I shrugged, they made a joke about it, and then they moved on. That’s the nice thing about being the quiet guy - you never really have to lie.

That night, I set myself up a little ways away from everyone else, in the little indentation in the grass that was roughly the size of my curled-up body. I was about to close my eyes when I heard David beside me again.

“Hey Quinten?” he whispered.

I sat up to look at him. “Yeah?” My voice was small. I was beginning to panic. What if he’d seen? I left the boat before he did. What if - oh my god. What if he’d hid in the cabin of the boat after he set off the generator. He would have _seen._ Oh _fuck._

“You didn’t really get scared back there, did you?” he questioned.

My face was _so fucking red,_ I could feel it. There was no point trying to hide it. I felt frozen solid. 

“Cause… I mean I don’t know a damn thing about it, but I thought you were ace?” he prodded.

I just barely managed to swallow. Answering was out of the question. David waited for a moment before he realised that, too.

He shrugged. “I mean it’s fine, it don’t bother me none. Just wanted to let you know, if you ever… you know, get cold over here, you should give me a nudge.” he told me with a smile.

I could feel my hands shaking as he stood up and walked back to the campfire. _Fuck._ I wanted to dig a hole in the forest and crawl in it and _die._ Why the _fuck_ did I do that?! That’s disgusting! Jacking off in the middle of a trial - _twice_ because I’m just an empty whore that’s just _gotta_ have something in his ass - and then David, fucking _David,_ finding… _that_. What the hell. Why am I like this? Why am I so fucking insatiable that I can’t go twelve hours without needing to cum? And why, _why,_ does thinking about this make me _so fucking horny?_

I laid back down, facing the forest. People were still laughing, chatting… My hand was already drifting over my dick. I could feel it, already hard and twitching. _Goddamn it._ I could stop myself. I squeezed it through my jeans and shuddered. _Just one more time, please, just one more,_ I found myself begging to no one. It was pathetic. And I was dripping, I could feel the fabric cool and slick against my tip.

My hips shook, and my tip would rub against it, just the tiniest bit. I bit my lip, trying to discreetly push my hips forward and get more fiction - trying to fuck my own underwear. What a fucking disgrace. But the sting of my own words just fed the fire. I was a slut. A dripping hole begging for something to squeeze around and plunge into me _fast_ and _hard_ and _fuck_ now I was thinking about _him._ It was never enough. I needed him again, yanking down my jeans and slicking up my hole and pushing me against the wall and _fucking_ me, plunging into my prostate _again_ and _again,_ fast, and hard, until there were tears pouring from my eyes, and all I could do was take it like a good bitch and _scream_ for him.

I needed it. I couldn’t stay here, someone would - what if David saw my arms moving? Or if someone called me over? I had to move. I pushed myself up. I walked a little ways into the woods and leaned behind a tree, and without a single moment of hesitation, I dropped my jeans to the ground and grabbed my tiny little cock with a gasp.

With my other hand, I reached under my balls to press - _holy shit._

He was there. Maybe twenty, thirty feet away, watching me. I threw a hand over my mouth to silence a shocked yelp. Instinctively, I pulled up my jeans, but I wasn't feeling any less horny. God, it had been so long.

I glanced behind me. Everyone was still sitting around the campfire. They probably hadn’t noticed me leave. I looked back toward him, just barely visible in the moonlight, his pale white mask staring at me, unmoving.

I took a shaky step toward him. And another. And another.

“M-Michael?” I whispered. He didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. Did he want me to come closer? Or stay away? He was impossible to read. If he wanted to leave, he could. But he just watched.

My feet were like magnets to the ground. My lungs were blocks of ice. Every part of me that wasn't refusing to move was shaking like a leaf. A moment passed. I realised he was moving. I stared. Slowly, he raised his hand toward me. He was beckoning me. It was a silent spell. And just like that, the ice around my ankles was shattered, and my feet began to fall toward him. My mind was washed over with this… urge, this all-powerful need to obey him. I had to. I was his. I would do what he wanted - I always would.

With every step, my hands began to shake. My knees threatened to give out. I could feel cold sweat on my neck. Michael was a killer; they have this effect - they all do. They don’t even do it consciously, I don’t think. We talk about it around the campfire sometimes, quietly and not for very long. It’s this aura, something that makes them so indescribably terrifying to be around, even when you’re hidden. It’s something that crawls up your spine and wriggles under your skin and whispers in your mind, _You’re going to die._

But I kept walking. Because it didn’t matter. I _needed_ him. More than I’d ever needed anything.

I was only a few feet away from him now. He lowered his hand, and I stopped. My breath was too shallow to feel, and my eyes were already swelling with tears. He’d never hurt me - not even once. And yet, I was resisting the constant plea from half of my brain to run, to scream, to warn the others. But the other half was desperate to drop to my knees, to feel this serial killer’s dick heavy on my tongue, to know that for the next however long, I wouldn’t have to make decisions, or figure things out, or reason, or think. My mind could go blank, and I could let this man take complete, unadulterated control over me. I could be his toy, his thing. I could _submit._

He brought his hand up into my hair. He pressed firmly down on my head, and a shiver went up my spine as my vision materialised and I was falling limp to my knees. But that’s where the dream faded away.

Michael walked around me, slowly. Surveying me. I stared at the ground. He pushed my head from one side to the other. He might have crouched behind me, because I felt his breath on my neck. It was different. His breath was… drawn out. Every breath was longer, harder - and sternly controlled. This wasn't normal. He took hold of my sweater and pulled it over my head, tossing it aside. It must have been cold but my body was overheating, my blood torching through my veins. I had no idea what to expect any more.

Then I remembered. What David had said just a little while ago. I wondered if Michael had heard. Terror flooded my brain as I watched him wrap his fingers around his knife. He wasn't stowing it away like usual. He kept his grip, and stood in front of me, towering above me.

 _Oh god. Oh fuck. He heard. He’s jealous. He’s gonna make sure David never has me. He’s going - he’s actually - he’s actually going to kill me._ And even though I’d died countless times, somehow the hallows of Michael’s eyes told me that, no, this would be for _real._

Tears were swelling behind my eyes. My mouth started moving, blabbering something, and I hardly had any idea what I was saying until midway through. 

“I’m sorry, nothing’s happening with David, I promise, I’m yours. I don’t want anyone but you. I’ll - I’ll never talk to him again if you want. Please, I’m sorry, just don’t-” I sniffed, my throat tightening, “Please, just don’t kill me. I’m sorry.”

Michael stared at me as my lips began to tremble. I covered my face with my hands, and started to cry. I tried to be quiet - I didn’t want to anger him even more. But I couldn’t help it. Sobbing into my palms, I was only slightly aware of him crouching down in front of me, and putting his knife on the ground. I felt his gloved hands move to gently hold my head, and I tried to suppress my flinch. For a moment, he smoothed my hair, and I could hardly understand. This had to be a dream. He was… comforting me. And I knew it was stupid, and I knew I shouldn’t trust this, but I _desperately_ wanted more. I shifted myself slowly closer to him. He didn’t move. I shifted closer again. And closer, until my knees were in his lap and my head hung only inches from his chest.

All I really wanted was to bury my face in his suit, but I knew that was too far. So I stayed where I was, revelling in the feeling of his hands in my hair, trying to control my breathing.

Suddenly, the hand in my hair tightened. I couldn’t move. I felt a sharp pain jabbed my neck, and I nearly jumped. He held me firmly in place, unable to look up as I watched his arm raise and I felt the fine point of his knife - it had to be - slice delicately around my neck. It was deep, purposeful, and I crushed my eyes closed against the pain, tears falling from my eyes that I made no attempt to wipe away.

He was done. He put his knife to the side and eased his grip on my hair. With a shaky hand, I touched the stinging circle, my fingers coming back wearing a thick line of blood. It would scar, I knew it. I blinked as I realised - it was a collar. One I would never be able to take off. The thought sent a hot shiver down my spine.

Michael stood. I looked up at him, with glassy eyes, feeling the chill of fear inside me bubbling, and turning into reverence. I wanted to reach for him, but I wanted to stay put, just waiting to be cast aside or toyed with or abandoned - I never knew which to expect. He reached down and grabbed the front of my hoodie, and hauled me up on shaky legs to stand. Before I had time to think, he turned me around to face back toward the camp, and pushed on my back. We walked. My hands shook, and I could barely manage to stay balanced. Just the pressure of his hand on me was enough to draw a whimper from my lips.

Soon, we could hear voices. Meg laughing, Dwight whining - David shouting. Michael stopped firmly in his tracks. We were still obscured in shadows, I knew that for sure, but through the leaves I could see all of them. Michael’s hand disappeared, and there was some quiet rustling behind me. I wanted to turn and look, but I didn’t want to dare disobey him. I stared forward, sweat dripping down my temple as I watched the others.

Suddenly, something soft was being pushed into my mouth. I bit down on it, looking down at the color: black, with some strange folds in it. My eyes flew wide. _His glove. Did this mean-?_

His hands ran down my sides. Shaking with anticipation, I waited for him to unbutton my jeans, staring down. But he gripped my hair and forced me to look up, at the grinning, naive faces of my friends. Before I realized, my jeans were being pulled down - but the hand that slipped underneath my briefs - was _warm._ I gasped as if it were ice.

His grip on my hair disappeared. He pulled down the briefs, bunching them down around my ankles with my jeans, standing me buck-ass nude from the waist down in the middle of the forest, just waiting - impatiently - to get fucked in the ass, maybe fifteen feet away the last guy who tried to flirt with me. God, it was so fucking wrong. But it was _perfect._

Michael’s bare hand felt so soft - softer even than the velvety glove between my teeth - and… god, so warm. Both his hands roamed my body slowly, starting at my throat, then descending down my chest, and across my back. He squeezed and massaged my ass, my thighs, reaching around across my abdomen, to my cock that was already fattening up like a trained dog - like he was marking his territory. He must have been crouched, because his knee pushed between mine, and with an apprehensive mewl I opened my legs. His hands running up my legs were all the praise I needed.

His hands parted my ass cheeks, and my hole chilled against the wind. A wet finger rubbed it gently, and I squeaked, my eyebrows knitting together and up, pushing back on that delicious finger. I wanted it inside me so bad, but he eased away just as it started to slip past my rim His gloved hand reached around to fondle my balls, and smear my shameful precome all over my pathetic little dick.

It wasn't much longer before his finger pushed in, just the tiniest little bit - probably not even to the first joint. I gave a desperate ‘mmmh’, and tried again to push against him, but again he faded away, this time followed by a bit more rustling - and then a _smack_ across my ass. I yelped, though the glove helped to muffle it. Even so, Nea’s head poked up.

“What was that?” she asked, looking toward us. I froze. I couldn’t breathe. Michael’s fingertip was drawing circles inside my ass, moving in and out slowly, and with my eyes squeezed shut, I had to bite hard into the cloth to keep from moaning. I hung my head, but in an instant he grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled my red, glazed face back up to look at them.

A voice asked, “What? You hear something?” Meg, maybe - but between my brain short-circuiting and my eyes filling with the tears of a sorry sinner, it could have been anyone.

“Settle down. Since when has the Entity ever knocked?” a low, gruff voice responded. 

Michael’s finger was slowly easing in, all the while drawing wide circles inside my ass, against that tight, wet, tantalizing flesh. My dick was drbbling precome, the clear streams running down the shaft and dripping onto the soil. God, I wanted his hands on me so bad. I wanted him inside me, around me, holding me, fucking me, pinning me and biting me and - _Fuck_ I need him. It’d been too long. I was _his,_ so unbelievably his; my body was as much his as was that monstrous dick, with the thick shaft I felt brushing against my ass. His finger was finally down to the last knuckle, nestled deep inside me, and he curled it up and _fuck!_ Prodding and teasing and rubbing my little prostate without mercy, leaving me squirming and shaking and trying so fucking hard not to _scream,_ and fuck I was already so close-

And then, his fist - his warm, bare fist - wrapped tight around my little dick, and my hips wanted to lurch and my knees wanted to give out and my throat wanted to shriek his name and I wanted to _cum_ but I couldn’t, and the bombardment of sensation just kept building. He pushed another finger into my hole, but God I wanted his _cock,_ inside me, filling me, pounding me, _claiming_ me. I was his little cocksleeve, his little toy, his pleading, delirious whore, so fucking desperate to be full of dick that I would beg him loud and teary-eyed for everyone to hear. So everyone would know that I was just a slutty little bitch under it all, and that I would hold open my own asshole and beg _please, please, please_ if it meant filled up and pounded into oblivion - the boy who was such a fucking slut, he opened his legs and pushed out his ass to get dick from a _killer._

He kept up the torture mercilessly for another minute or two, flicking and plunging into my prostate, massaging my rim with his thumb, my puny little dick still fast in his grip and dripping precome over his huge, pale hand. Tears fell ceaselessly from my eyes, and it was _so fucking good,_ I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe, but my body knew to stay still for its master, and my brain just kept screaming into my conscience, _You are owned._

Until the fingers in my ass disappeared, and there was no stopping the whine that fell from my wet lips. Another moment passed, and I felt - _yes,_ his dick, his fat head pushing into my sopping little pucker. I had to try _so hard_ not to push myself back, to plunge him inside me and let him _destroy_ me. But no. He pushed his cock into me slowly, lethargically, and I wanted to pout and beg but the glove only let me give a muffled cry.

One hand still firmly holding my dick, his other came around to hold me across the chest, and as he pulled me close to to his chest, my eyes widened at the unexpected touch, so warm and intimate it made my legs melt - and he pushed his dick _so fucking deep,_ his grip on me released and for a moment, we just stayed there. His arms wrapped around me, his breath on my ear, hot and close. His chest flush to my back, and his cock planted deep inside of me. God, I’d never felt so close to _anyone._ It was so… soft, and safe.

Slowly, his hips began to move, his dick sliding in and out of my asshole, brushing against my prostate so deliciously, and I leaned my head back against his chest and moaned to the treetops. He was picking up the pace, slamming into me, with one hand raising to grip my neck and the other giving my cock, bright red and swollen as it could be, a fierce rub. My entire body shook and I squeezed my eyes shut, whimpering with every thrust, bathing in this mindless, euphoric feeling of complete submission, of being claimed, dominated, controlled. I was nothing, but with him slamming into me, harder and faster with every second, fucking me with a vicious passion, like he hadn’t gotten his dick wet in months - my purpose was fulfilled: I was a walking fucktoy. I wasn't good at anything, I wasn't smart or funny - I didn’t even have a decent-sized dick to my name. But I had a tight, shameless hole that twitched and leaked, so ready to be stuffed and abused, and a flushed, teary-eyed face that was just begging for a good fucking. And fuck, if Michael laid claim to it, then it had to be worth something.

Michael was pushing hard on my prostate with every breath, crushing me under countless smacks of electric pleasure, his hand around my throat choking down my screams before they passed my lips. He reached behind my cock to knead at my perineum and rub my balls, tight little sacs that bounced ridiculously with every new inch of dick in my ass. Every new punch shoved me closer, and closer, and closer, until I was gripping his suit in my sweaty fists and crying his name through his glove and suddenly every last thought was torched from my mind and I wanted to _scream,_ and I was shooting spurt after spurt of cum all over the obscuring brush and the dirt and my sweater. But that never stopped Michael.

He didn’t miss a single beat of his ruthless fucking, and it wasn't another minute before my dick was back up and straining to cum again. I could feel my brain starting to melt, the mindless milking of my prostate draining every last thought from my head but _Yes, yes, yes…_ And his thrusts became erratic and his grip on my throat tightened and in a second I could feel his hot cum squirting deep inside me, filling every crevice, dribbling out and coating his dick as he continued to plunge slowly in and out of my sloppy, well-used asshole.

I whined softly as he pulled his cock out of me, out of where it _belonged,_ and I was standing still quivering to cum again, like a fucking whore who just _needs _to have a dick up their ass to function.__

__His hands never left my skin, running smoothly down my back before suddenly pushing me to bend over, having to brace on a low branch, my face ever closer to that pool of precome in the dirt that’d been slowly gathering all night._ _

__He traced the ring of my asshole lightly. I’d never get over the feeling of his flesh on mine - but the touch was far too gentle. I needed him inside of me, _ruining_ me, turning my insides into the perfect little dick envelope because that’s all I was good for. And fuck, if it weren’t for the glove in my mouth I’d have been begging for it._ _

__He started with three thick fingers, rubbing my dick absent-mindedly as he shoved them in and out, getting them messy with the cum still oozing from my hole. God, I wanted to push back on them, take them deeper, like there was an itch inside me that they just barely couldn’t touch. But I didn’t dare disobey my master._ _

__He slipped in another finger. It was so thick, so full… but it wasn't enough. Not with his hand so slow on my dick, not with his fingers falling short of that depth I craved. I mewled around the glove and gripped the branch tight. Still, I had to be still._ _

__His thumb pushed in. A few thrusts and he was closing a fist inside of me, and _fuck,_ it was so _full._ The hand around my cock vanished for a split second as he must have pushed up his sleeve, and then he gripped my hip and pulled his fist the slightest bit out, and jammed it back in, and I nearly _shrieked,_ hitting me deep and thick and so fucking _good._ It wasn't like being fucked with a cock - it was stronger, slower, and _incredibly_ intense. Steadily, he pulled back out, and _shoved_ it in again, sending another wave of pleasure frying every neuron of my brain. God, my legs were limp as all hell, shaking like a fucking leaf and just lost to delirium, drool falling from my lips and clutching weakly to the branch below me. He pulled his fist out again. It only took one more. One more time, he fucked into me _hard_ with half his damn forearm, brushing my prostate with his knuckles, and with a weak, helpless cry, my cock twitched and shot a long stream of cum into the brush. Shivers flurried up and down my body as, with every deep, short thrust of Michael’s fist inside my ass, my little cocklet pushed burst after burst of cum out of its swollen head, drawing out my orgasm tenfold and draining my balls of every last drop._ _

__Michael pulled his hand from my asshole slowly, bending down to circle his other arm around my chest, and pulling me back up to stand. Hesitantly, I turned around to face him. His face, of course, was expressionless. He put a hand in my hair. He tilted my head from one side, to the other - just like the first time. Except now, there was something to look at: the mark of his property. The thought gave me goosebumps._ _

__He turned me around, back toward the camp. I pulled up my pants. I contemplated taking one last glance at him, but figured he wanted me to leave._ _

__I walked out of the forest. David turned at my arrival and gave me a small smile. I kept my head down. The others were listening to one of Bill’s stories, and Ace was showing Kate a card game - and I was laying down in my usual grassy patch, feeling my asshole gaping more than it ever had before, still filthy with cum, and rubbing dried tears from my cheeks, still shuddering from the afterglow of overwhelming pleasure._ _

__I looked back into the forest. He was still there. Watching me._ _


End file.
